


Recalled

by redhoneyplease



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Lesbianism, Moicy, Overwatch Recall, Talon - Freeform, Unfinished, cool moira undercover goes WRONG!!!!!!!!!!, gonna be honest i couldnt be fucked finishing editing the italics and bolds lo l
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:00:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28586847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoneyplease/pseuds/redhoneyplease
Summary: Basically here's a really shitty moicy fic i never finished from mid 2020, this is just 'moira goes undercover for talon at the overwatch recall and ends up feeling every emotion she's repressed for the last 20 years'enjoy lol
Relationships: Moira O'Deorain/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Recalled

Overwatch.  
They held the future of humanity back.  
Embarrassingly enough, it seems they’re desperately attempting to replenish what little influence they had.*  
Recalling their forces.. with little to achieve, it seems foolish, futile.. lacking.

Moira’s regular work, genetic research, had to be cut short at the passing word of an overwatch recall.

“They’re recalling overwatch? Delightful,”  
....  
“Lacroix, your feelings?”  
A light smile resting on her lips, obtusely aware of the irony laying in the interrogation.  
“It’s a last resort.. O’deorain.”  
“Maybe.. our favourite guardian angel of overwatch - Ms. Ziegler herself, will be back in action. Adorable.”  
The assassin swiftly shot her eyes to the geneticist across from her,  
“Is Docteur Ziegler of interest to you?”  
Her voice curled in a sharp, effortlessly cold manner.  
Dr. O’deorain smirked to herself; increasingly aware of the utter brilliance behind the achievement of creating a remorseless assassin. It was practically prophetic, the way she behaves, much lesser on the registrar, her tone.  
“No, lacroix - I lack many attachments to that phase in my career. I assure you /she/ is not one of them.”

“So why are you voluntarily going to work with her?”  
“It’s purely business.”  
Moira spat back - a venom lacing the words she spoke. The mutual may be a remorseless husk, but that wouldn’t stop the geneticist from reacting intensely.

The day had arrived.  
She was scheduled to meet with the recalled overwatch members - receive briefings on their role in the re-establishment of the organisation. 

**Watchpoint Gibraltar.**

“Jesse. Welcome back.”  
“Same to you, O’deorain.”  
The two exchanged pleasantries quickly; not faulting to catch the concern in the other’s eyes. An unspoken tension residing between them - blackwatch relations fallen thin from distance. They had both arrived surprisingly early - much to the other’s dismay.

A collection of past overwatch members slowly formed at the entrance, neatly displaying those who’d volunteered to assist in the recall of overwatch. 

But then she came along.  
“Angela! You’ve made it, all the way from Egypt!” The former mechanic spoke, extending her own body language towards the new arrival; clearly pleased with the newfound presence.  
“Dr. Ziegler!”  
It wasn’t until the geneticist heard her voice that reality /fully/ sunk in.  
“Please, Mei, call me Angela.”  
Her voice that was smooth as honey; lightly dripping her accent over the words. So gentle. So warm. So-  
Within moments, Moira’s heart grew cold. A bitter jealously resounding within. Slithering around the presence beating in her chest; her own brilliance defies even her own standards sometimes, but the murky waters of anger, jealousy and utter grief were far too deep for a dive. 

Winston, the self-appointed strike commander, and primary resident of the watchpoint, was giving out basic instructions for all present member’s specific duties.  
O’deorain couldn’t help but stare at the way Dr. Ziegler’s expression seemed to indicate her concentration; her lips pursing ever so slightly; her eyebrows furrowing; her eyes steady on the speaker.  
“Dr. Ziegler, Dr. O’deorain - I’ve assigned you both to refining and retrieving our old biotic tech. I decided to move my quarters to the one in the hangar. You’ll occupy the space above us.”  
Without hesitation; a wave of pure dread swept over the geneticist. Leaving her to crawl, soaked, back to shore.  
See, it wasn’t the fact she’d be actively working with someone who she was fairly certain despised her; well, no, /did/ despise her. It was the fact that she’d be confronting years of unmarked yearning. Time spent wondering what would’ve happened if things were different.

After she cleared her throat, Moira perked up,  
“Looks like our differences will have to be put aside, Dr. Ziegler?”  
“Dr O’deorain, calling your work unethical would be a kindness.”  
“But the true question is - whether or not you can deny my discoveries?”  
Moira’s false confidence overtook her speech.  
.....  
“No. I didn’t think so.”  
O’deorain’s lovestruck sweaty palms were hidden by pockets.  
..  
“Mein gott, /Moira/, Your discoveries are rooted in absolute disgraces to the very nature of science. It makes me sick.”  
Ouch.  
“*Moira*.. now, am I? Parful.”  
The words flowed as though they were composed beforehand, flawlessly masking the deep, gnawing dread.  
“/Wixxer/..”  
Angela heavily sighed as she did her best to non-verbally excuse herself from the conversation at hand.  
“Angela, what was that? */Angela/*!”  
Moira hurried after the nanobiologist; awkwardly trying to keep up, without accidentally tripping over her own two feet.

Without skipping a beat, Angela spun around, immediately stopping Moira in her tracks.  
“Winston took the time to prepare this for us, So it’s best you keep your antics to yourself.”  
“Angela.. - you seem rather frustrated, Perhaps starting to prepare for scientific record retrieval isn’t too wise?”  
“I do appreciate the advice, but I assure you it is not necessary.”  
The geneticist nodded in certainty, having ran out of prewritten witty responses.

-•-

“Angela - I’ve located some previous biotic tech records, they’re all from 2070.”  
Moira gestured lightly for her mutual to come over towards her.  
“...On the hard drive of..?”  
“This wee holopad,”  
She pointed towards the device in her hand, her nails lightly scratching the screen.  
“You need to cut your na- Why are there official scientific records on a holopad?”  
“I do hope that is a rhetorical question, Dr. Ziegler.”  
“I was talking to myself, Im Fass Haa?”  
“As I was saying - In truth, I am not certain myself why these official documents would be stored on such a flimsy device.”  
As she spoke, she turned the device around with ease; looking up and down the backing, neatly etched with an overwatch logo into the back, glazed with a metallic finish.  
“Convenience?”  
“-No, no, this was at the bottom of one of the left-over boxes that Winston moved over from one of the labs here.”  
“Halt, Moira - is there a name on the file?”  
“Ay.. no, *no* - none.”  
“Let me see.”  
“There’s no author - I assure you.”  
“let me see. Stop-“  
“Bollocks.”  
Moira’s hands mysteriously flinched at her mutual’s movement, dropping the holopad onto the hard floor; the screen shattering into small glass pieces.  
“You /smashed/ it! /Futze/! I can’t /believe/ you!”  
Angela quickly bent down in response, trying to recover what’s left of the device. Her hands gliding over the lone glass with hyper aware ease.  
A breath,  
“/Angela/-“  
“I don’t want to hear it.”  
The mutual sighed deeply, her anger dissolving into the murky tension between them.  
“It’s nearing 9 in the evening - we should end this here.”

It didn’t take long; they separated, conversing with those they hadn’t seen in a time. Guilt tugging at their collars; a subtle reminder of their past. 

“Ah! Winston - you mentioned you cleared up parts of the unused fuel storages nearby for accomodation, did you have any preference as to where we locate ourselves?”  
“Dr. Ziegler, as a matter of fact, I absolutely did. You and Dr. O’Deorain will be sharing the lookout room closest to the hangar.”  
“Oh.. merci vilmal, Winston.” 

/A subtle embrace./  
/“Honey-“/  
/A breath,/  
/“I love you.”/  
/“I love you too.”/  
/The blonde falls into the embrace, leaning her head on her partner’s shoulder./

“/Moira/!”  
Her mutual shot, snapping the geneticist out of her trance.  
“My apologies, I was lost in thought,”  
Moira continued to unpack the supplies to set up bedding for the two of them; they’d have to share a portable mattress for the time being.  
“It wouldn’t take too much analysis to come to that conclusion.”  
“I’ve been reminiscing on the past.”  
“Not about us, I hope.”  
Angela piped up in return, turning her head to face Moira, unbeknownst to the latter.  
“My attachments to that status has run thin, no concern needed.” Her voice cooled as the words left her lips; seemingly letting herself believe that the truth was all she could tell.  
“Verstanden.”

The room was worn; previously used to lookout over the entrance to the hangar.  
“Angela?”  
“Mm?”  
“Is this recall something you truly want?”  
The medic’s head propped up, facing the wall in front of her; before swiftly returning to glance at her mutual.  
“I-“  
“Honestly, Angela,”  
“We’ve got no time to dwell on this now, Moira. Focus on the task at hand.”  
“You cannot avoid my inquisition forever.”  
“I am well aware.”  
Angela deeply sighed as she ended her response, taking a moment to pad down the mattress she’d just set up.  
“...Does this mattress seem flat to you?”  
Moira shuffled over; the both of them relying on their knees to hold them up, as they worked to set up their shared temporary bedding.  
“I don’t think s-“ the geneticist used two fingers to press into the mattress.  
Angela’s eyes shifted up towards her mutuals.  
“It’s a wee bit flat - the coils have most likely grown weak from it’s storage.”  
Moira’s eyes turned to meet hers.  
“As expected, merci, Moira.”  
Angela’s eyes darted to the task at hand within moments.  
“On my questi-“  
“-The recall is not guided by our own wants. It’s guided by necessity.”

The geneticist slowly let herself fall onto her half of the mattress they’d prepared to sleep on, the quiet hum of hard drives that lined the opposite wall becoming glaringly obvious.  
“I‘ll leave you ample space, I’m no monster.”  
Her research partner soon following suite, covered in loose linen clothing, she descended to the padding beneath the two of them; uncomfortably assessing the situation.  
“Moira, I will not hesitate to nudge you off of this mattress if you start hogging the blanket.”  
“-I have changed Angela!”  
“You best hope so.”  
Turning to face away from moira; the blonde lightly wiggled to get herself comfortable.  
“You still hold a grudge against me for my past greed?”  
She used her left arm to prop herself up, to look over at her mutual. The fleece blanket above the two of them creasing with the movement underneath. The mattress lightly squeaking as the coils worked to cope with the motion.  
“...You have genetically modified humans. I do hope you could answer that yourself, Dr. O’deorain.”  
The nanobiologist sighed as the words left her mouth. It had been a long day - although, not one of her longest.  
“..Angela, I did not expect you’d remember such a wee problem of our past.”  
... a heavy breath,  
“Please, moira - go to sleep.”  
The desperate command was simple enough to allow moira to relax back into the comfort of the mattress, paired with the soft pillow regally holding her head. God, Angela’s calmed voice truly was in a league of its own.

-•-

Unsurprisingly, Moira awoke to the sun’s rays yawning over the two of them; the warm hues glistening over the blanket they mostly shared. Her mutual’s eyes still shut; the raising and falling of her chest under the blanket mimicked the gentleness in the morning breeze.  
She didn’t notice the creep of a slight smile on her lips.

Light footsteps could be heard outside; shuffling across the concrete beneath. It was almost soothing, but the stillness in the moment was stirred by Angela’s awakening.  
“You’re awake, lo-“  
Moira bit her tongue.  
It seems the intimacy of sharing a mattress had done it’s part on her; forcing the revisiting of old memories that she’d prefer to stay buried.  
A soft groan left her mutuals lips, as her body twirled under the sheets as her mind cleared from the post-sleep fog.  
“Moira,”  
“Mmm?”  
“I had a... dream last night.”  
Her head flopped onto the pillow as she fell onto her back, staring at the ceiling.  
“Grand, “  
“No- Moira, It- It was about our breakup.”  
Silence heaved itself inbetween the both of them, uncomfortably shifting around. Melting like wax into place; stiffening the two of them in unison.  
“Oh.”  
“Of course that’s all you have to say, isn’t it?”  
The nanobiologist awkwardly pushed herself upwards, her hair drooped over her shoulders. Hands quickly reaching to push it out of her face with an undeniable anger.  
“You like to sit and act as though you were the victim here, don’t you, Moira?”

“You’re 48 fucking years old, and you’re still letting yourself succumb to wallowing in your own self-pity. I’m almost glad I broke up with you.”  
“Angela-“  
“I’ll see you at the lab. I’ve got things I actually need to get done.”

**Author's Note:**

> sorry


End file.
